


Fanning The Flames

by RitaM



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, fan dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RitaM/pseuds/RitaM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jack considers that Phryne's brief stunt as a dancer excited him differently than one would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fanning The Flames

Pink feathers. Jack closed his eyes briefly, offering a silent prayer to God, lest he burst out laughing. Miss Fisher was teasing the audience, tossing her hair above the curtain of pink fluff, a sparkle in her eye. She couldn't fool him though; he'd know her anywhere. After all, there was only one woman capable of the sheer gall this took: going undercover in a gentlemen's club with a recently murdered dancer. He couldn't fault her logic, for all that he couldn't openly support her actions, risky as the were. Still, she had resources not available to him: he wouldn't last a minute in such a situation, and not just because he was a man.

Funny how, he thought, hiding his smile from Collins, whose jaw was still hanging open (Jack, in rare moments of indiscreet thought rather pitied Dot, who'd have to train up the lad at some point) - funny how most men wouldn't approve of a woman pursuing such a venture. Not that Miss Fisher was more than an acquaintance, he reassured himself; he wasn't blind - flirting was her modus operandi, designed to keep men off balance and at a distance, unless and until she desired otherwise. He supposed they did become friends of a sort, following the Murdoch Foyle debacle, but he certainly wouldn't presume to dictate her actions if they didn't directly affect the investigation - and even then she got her way more often than not. Still, the way she acted spoke to a deep part of him - that young Jack Robinson, the lad who would do what he willed and damn the consequences. Cautious as he'd grown to be, through time and bitter experience, there was something exhilarating in Miss Fisher's hunger for freedom. As if he could revel in it second hand, just by the virtue of being around.

It pulled at him in a way he tried not to acknowledge.

Just now, she revealed her figure, hips moving in sultry circles. Most society women would faint just for having seen it, never mind doing it; he'd seen reputations ruined for less. But Miss Fisher was cutting through Melbourne's aristocracy like a hot knife cuts through butter: her air of scandal irresistible, her willful ignorance of wagging tongues - unbroken. As she seemed singularly uninterested in pursuing marriage, and her flings were never public - she rarely appeared twice with the same man (Jack manfully ignored the fact that the only man to accompany her more than once was - well, him) - there was nothing the society could threaten her with. She certainly had money enough not to care. The rich could afford to be eccentric, Jack mused cynically; if not for her own experience of poverty, and the noble goal, she wouldn't be the first high born lady slumming it in a gentlemen's club for one night's adventure. But Phryne - Miss Fisher - mixed business and pleasure, investigation and fun. Wondering what she would do next was his constant occupation, if slightly shadowed by worry.

What she did do next blinded him for a second. He'd seen her naked form before, on that painting, but this was different. He had to remind himself that this was a case; this was work; Collins was standing right next to him, as was Miss Williams. Otherwise, his rising colour would have given way to... well. He was only a man, he thought, conveniently dismissing his lack of reaction to other dancers. 

Only a man, and Miss Fisher was only a woman; he’d seen her wrecked with worry, tired, even sad. But tonight, she was larger than life; she was extraordinary. She was every man’s fantasy, and one that he’d not forget in a hurry. After all, he reasoned to himself, she was asking to be looked at. He only did the lady’s bidding. 

And if, in the privacy of his own mind, he imagined tracing the line of her shoulders and back with those pink feathers… that didn’t really matter. Thoughts such as those happened more frequently with her around; it was the nature of the beast. Yes, she was glorious, but what he liked best was her unrepentant daring, the way she walked through life as if nothing, no one could touch her. He enjoyed her stubborn duels with other policemen, hell bent on dismissing her presence, even when she was bringing valuable information. He was rule-bound, by both his work and his nature, but something in him appreciated that she loved to break the rules. 

In his line of work, Jack had seen many people when their life was torn open, with a loved one dead or guilty of hideous crime, trust broken, secrets revealed. He knew very well how little society’s rules meant in moments like that. Miss Fisher had her priorities straight: she offered empathy and kindness to all, and justice to those who hurt others. And if sometimes it led her to bare her breasts for all to see… the path of justice never did run smooth. 

Yes, Jack mused, taking care to hide the grin that threatened to emerge: since she waltzed into his life, Miss Fisher certainly broke his rules, and some. Caused him to break his own, even. He couldn’t bring himself to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> The way I've been writing is: write immediately, post, edit a word or two. Not the best way for quality, but... sometimes the only way to publish at all. I have a million things to do, but fanfic somehow keeps me sane, especially from the threat of perfectionism. That said, feedback always welcome. I have some longer bits tucked away in my head; let's see if I ever get the determination to see them through.


End file.
